seasons
by acityofsleeplesspeople
Summary: a series of seasonal Firby oneshots
1. autumn leaves

October came, only marginally less hot than Atlanta usually was, but with a golden glow in the air that made everything seem more magical. Leaves were beginning to brighten; the orchard behind the manor would soon be rippling waves of russet and ochre. Shards of broken acorns littered the marble steps of the back veranda. Nights were crisp with the promise of colder weather soon to come.

Fallon hated every second of it.

Autumn had never really been her thing. As beautiful as the changing leaves were, they littered the manicured lawns, crunchy and brown, leaving yellow spots in the grass when they weren't raked away quickly enough. The damned squirrels chattered at her every time she stepped onto the veranda to have her morning coffee, as if she were invading _their_ space. The indecisive weather meant she'd go to work in a blazer in the morning and be sweating in her very unprofessional tank top by afternoon. But that wasn't the worst of it.

Sam was busy finding himself in Argentina. Liam was in New York. Michael had gone out to Tybee for a long weekend. Blake was so busy with his latest business venture and kissing Cristal's ass that he couldn't be bothered to oversee the day-to-day operations, or even to delegate them as he usually did. And with Steven gone, Anders had had some kind of epiphany and taken nearly all of his built-up vacation days at once to go be with him. Kirby hadn't said as much, but Fallon knew that it bothered her - she'd been sticking close by her side since the moment he'd left.

With so much of the family on sabbatical, the running of the household had fallen to Fallon. While she could plan a hell of a launch party and scare the pants off of any intern she laid her eyes on, homemaking had never really interested her. But the staff needed something to do, and planning the annual Halloween dinner party seemed to be the only thing she could think of to keep their schedules at least somewhat on track. Today, she needed to go meet with the party planner to select tablecloths, a particularly mind numbing task that she had never enjoyed. She was scowling at the thought as she shooed away the squirrels to sip her coffee, already uncomfortably hot under the morning sun.

"Morning."

She heard Kirby's greeting, but didn't bother to turn around. She knew the redhead would be at her side in a moment.

"Morning," she replied, trying to keep a sigh out of her voice.

Kirby all but materialized beside her. Fallon turned to look at her, unable to stifle a grin when she saw her outfit - dark jeans and ridiculous bright orange sweatshirt emblazoned with a carved face, making her entire torso look like a jack o'lantern. The effect against her fiery hair almost made Fallon's eyes water.

"You're certainly festive today."

"It's nearly Halloween," Kirby said indignantly. "You aren't festive enough."

Fallon snorted. "I'll be festive when I _feel_ like being festive. You, on the other hand, are going to collapse from heat stroke if you wear _that_ all day."

"Australian," Kirby replied, as if that somehow negated everything Fallon had just said. "Besides, it isn't that hot yet."

"Mmm." Fallon sipped her coffee and brushed a few acorn shells off the railing, unwilling to engage.

"What are we doing today?"

Fallon raised her eyebrows. _"'We'?"_

"Do you really expect me to sit around here all day by myself? Let me come to the office with you. I'll get your coffee or make copies or something."

"Not in that, you won't. And I'm not going to the office, I have to do some things for the dinner party."

"All the more reason for me to come with you!" Kirby said brightly. "I'll help."

"Not today, Kirby. I'm meeting with the party planner to pick out tablecloths, I don't think I need your assistance to choose between eggshell and ecru."

Kirby wrinkled her nose. "Aren't those both just shades of white?"

"_That_ just proves what little help you'll be. If you really get bored, you can help Martha and Rebecca decorate the foyer. That's typically the woman of the house's job, but I…" She sipped her coffee, briefly considering making up an excuse before deciding to just tell the truth. "I'm not tall enough to hang most of the decorations and I don't want to, anyway."

Kirby looked deflated enough that Fallon almost felt bad, but the redhead had been so clingy lately that she couldn't bring herself to yield on this. Still, she felt like she had to throw her some kind of bone. "Tell you what, if you're good, I'll take you with me on my other errands this afternoon, okay?"

The other woman seemed mollified by the offer, and Fallon nodded. "Good. I'll see you when I get back."

* * *

Fallon pulled up in front of the manor, not bothering to pull her car into the huge garage at the end of the drive. Her heel briefly got stuck in the thick carpet under the brake pedal, and she had to pull at her foot several times to free it as she got out of the car, flustered and the beginnings of a headache starting to set in. The meeting with the party planner had been even more excruciating than she'd imagined, the woman interrogating her about fabric finishes and berating her about how the light would impact the look of the tablecloths until she was nearly ready to stuff a linen napkin in her mouth just to shut her up.

They'd finally agreed to go with the ecru, with aubergine, russet, and gold accents. Fallon had slipped her a few hundreds on her way out with the stipulation that she was not to call her for the rest of the day.

As she stomped her way up to the manor door, her blazer looped over her arm and her silk blouse sticking uncomfortably to the small of her back, she prayed that Kirby had managed to at least get the decorations done.

As she turned her key in the lock, she nearly dropped her blazer, mouth agape as she took in the absolute travesty in front of her.

Fallon's idea of fall decor meant bronze and gold with flashes of auburn; tasteful leaf accents; _maybe _the occasional pumpkin. Kirby's idea of fall decor clearly meant something more like letting the nearest discount store vomit profusely all over the house.

She was standing under an enormous orange balloon arch, but Kirby had clearly run out of balloons halfway and had to go get more, because there were bare spots and some of the balloons were differing shades of orange. Garish orange and purple streamers festooned the foyer, twining around the wrought iron banisters along with flashing orange fairy lights. Large, glittery bats dangled from the chandelier - Fallon had no idea how Kirby had managed to even reach that - and a motion activated witch stirred a cauldron and cackled in the corner. Fallon looked down, surprised to notice that she couldn't see her feet - a fog machine hummed in another corner, blanketing the floor with thick, smelly grey smoke.

It was… so much worse than anything she could've imagined.

She was so busy taking it all in and deciding what to make of it that she didn't even hear Kirby creep up behind her until a fake spider was dancing in her face. She swatted it away, turning to face her.

"Boo!"

"_Kirby," _Fallon hissed. "What… _is… _all this?"

Kirby lowered the spider, her mirthful expression immediately shifting to one of uncertainty. "You- you said to decorate-" She trailed off, tucking the spider into her pocket and crossing her arms defensively. The jack o'lantern peered over her arms, making it feel like it was staring at Fallon.

Fallon sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes. Yes, I did say that. But, Kirby, this is a _dinner_ party, not- this isn't-" She paused, searching for the right words. As frustrated as she was, she couldn't bring herself to snap at the girl like she desperately wanted to. "This is not quite what I had in mind," she finished lamely. "You did a great job, but…"

"No, I get it," Kirby said quietly, staring at the smoky floor. "You don't like it."

Her voice was so unexpectedly childlike that Fallon was surprised to feel a pang in her chest.

"No, no," she backpedaled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd tried to make someone feel better, and the words weren't coming very easily. "I- I actually love it. Really. But Blake will be so pissed at me if I don't pull everything off perfectly. I should've been clearer." She cleared her throat, but her next words came out raspy anyway, as though they were ragged from years of disuse. "I'm sorry."

Kirby looked up at her then, a faint sadness still present in her eyes, and Fallon immediately felt even worse.

"Look, we can go run the rest of my errands and Martha and Rebecca will move everything to the east wing, okay? You can turn the whole thing into a haunted house if you want. I'll even help you." She winced slightly, hoping she wouldn't have to make good on that particular promise. She really did hate decorating, and some of the stuff Kirby had put out was kind of creepy.

"Fine," Kirby replied. She uncrossed her arms and Fallon immediately felt a small wave of relief. "What kind of errands do you have to run, anyway?"

Fallon groaned. "The party planner gave me a list. I need 'seasonally appropriate gourds' and 'rustic wood slices' for the centerpieces. She told me to get a hay bale, too, but there's no way in hell I'm bringing a cube of rotting grass into this house."

Kirby had clearly stopped listening, because there was a playful glint in her eye. "Where are we going to get all of that?"

"I don't know, Whole Foods? I'm not exactly a gourd expert."

"Anything you get there will be tiny and overpriced," Kirby sniffed. "I have a better idea."

Fallon raised an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

* * *

An hour later, Fallon was scowling as she stomped along behind Kirby in a dusty field. Whole Foods would've been far preferable to some random pumpkin patch all the way in the outskirts of Dekalb County. Her heels were sinking in the grass - they'd be ruined after all this.

Kirby flitted along ahead of her, still wearing her sweatshirt and seemingly oblivious to the heat. She finally stopped at a small barn that was labelled as an office - Fallon rolled her eyes when she saw the sign - and waited, bouncing on the balls of her feet, for Fallon to catch up to her.

"I cannot _believe_ I let you talk me into this," she complained, pushing her sunglasses up on her nose.

"It'll be _fun," _Kirby wheedled. "You've been in a bad mood all week. I know you hate party planning. I don't really like being alone in the house. We both deserve a break."

"You aren't _alone_ in the house," Fallon muttered, feeling a little bit defensive. "And aren't we a little old for this?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize fun had an age limit."

Fallon sighed. "Fine. One hour."

Kirby seemed to spot something that piqued her interest, because before Fallon knew it, she was grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward another small building. She yanked away and followed her of her own accord, but not before a surprising amount of goosebumps raised on her skin where the other woman had touched her. Fallon rubbed them away with the heel of her hand, trying to put them out of her mind.

Kirby ground to a halt in front of an old pallet that had been mounted on a stake. It read "HAYRIDES" in misshapen letters. The wood was weathered and the paint was starting to peel. Fallon reached out and tugged a fleck of paint off of the 'h' before it fully registered with her what the sign said.

"Oh, hell no."

"Why not?"

"Kirby, I agreed to come to a pumpkin patch; at _no_ point did I say I would do any activities. If I don't want to bring a bale of hay into my house, what makes you think I want to climb into a giant wagon full of it?"

"It'll be a good story?"

"These are Gucci pants," Fallon protested, but she was starting to sense that she was losing the battle.

"Last year's," Kirby shot back. Fallon couldn't help but be a little impressed that she knew that. "And those Louboutins have seen better days, too, so don't even go there." She paused, carefully schooling her features back into the crestfallen expression that had made Fallon so uncomfortable earlier. "And I worked really hard decorating and you didn't even like it, so you owe me."

Fallon groaned. "One hayride. That's it. Then we're even."

Kirby literally clapped her hands and the sadness left her face. Fallon briefly wondered if she might've taken up acting while she'd been back in Australia.

An ancient tractor rumbled up beside the sign, stirring up dust that immediately clung to Fallon's clothing. A bunch of kids scrambled out - some kind of field trip or something - and their sticky faces and hands made Fallon even less enthusiastic about crawling into the hay than she'd been before.

There was no one else in line, but the grizzled old farmer motioned for them to climb in anyway. Kirby, with her tall stature and long legs, lifted herself into the bed of the tractor with ease. Fallon tossed her wristlet into the hay and set about hauling herself in beside her. She was shorter than Kirby, and not nearly as graceful - her foot slipped and she tumbled in, falling into the redhead's lap on the way down.

She immediately flushed red, though she wasn't entirely sure why. The awkward position she'd landed in made it hard for her to sit up, and Kirby had to put a hand on her shoulder and push her upright. She shrugged away from her touch as soon as she was situated, grabbing her wristlet from the pile of hay as the tractor started to slowly inch away from the makeshift station.

Kirby was beaming, clearly overjoyed at having gotten her way. Fallon noticed how the afternoon light danced on her hair and seemed to make it nearly glow, then shook her head and kicked herself for even noticing that at all. She had been annoyed by Kirby's constant presence - at least she thought she had. But spending time with her wasn't entirely unpleasant, even when it did involve bouncing around a bed of dirty hay. She was starting to notice a humming ball of nerves in the pit of her stomach whenever she was around her; feelings that were new and which she couldn't begin to make sense of.

Fallon was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped when Kirby's fingers laced into her hair.

"Sorry," she muttered. "You have hay in your hair, I was getting it out."

"It's fine," Fallon said tersely. "Um, thank you."

"Welcome," Kirby murmured. She was eyeing her curiously, trying to figure her out, but Fallon shook her head and pointed across the field to distract her.

"Look, cows."

Kirby turned to look, then leaned over the side of the tractor to take a picture of the cows. She chattered happily for the rest of the ride, occasionally pointing out other animals, but Fallon couldn't engage more than the occasional, cursory "mhm".

When the tractor finally wheezed to a stop, Kirby climbed out first, then offered Fallon her hand to help her get out. Fallon eyed it warily, all too aware of the reaction she'd had the last time the redhead had touched her, but finally gave in - she really couldn't get out by herself.

Kirby eased her down from the bed of the tractor, her hand lingering on Fallon's elbow for a moment after she'd already regained her footing. Fallon gave her a sharp glance, and she flushed and dropped her hand.

Fallon cleared her throat, eager for the awkwardness that had settled between them to dissipate. "Let's go get the gourds. And you can pick a pumpkin for the front porch."

Kirby was still curious about the sudden shift in Fallon's demeanor, but she nodded. "Two pumpkins."

"Fine. Two."

* * *

Kirby's unbridled enthusiasm made it easier to fall back into their regular banter than Fallon had been anticipating. She carefully selected the various gourds on Fallon's list, taking care to pick a couple that were extremely ugly, explaining to Fallon that she worried no one else would buy them. Fallon allowed it, but made a mental note to put those particular gourds in the backup centerpieces.

It wasn't long before all of the gourds were boxed and waiting for them at a picnic table.

"All we need now are the pumpkins!" Kirby exclaimed, arms extended wide. She had a few flecks of hay in her long hair, and Fallon couldn't help but smile. The afternoon had cooled off considerably, and the sun was starting to sink just a little in the sky.

"Remember, you only get two," she teased, ambling along beside Kirby to the pumpkin patch. Kirby had a hold of her arm again, but this time, Fallon hadn't bothered to pull away. She was starting to realize that she did like being near her. She'd sort the rest of the feelings out later.

Kirby rolled her yes. "Yes, Mum, I know."

Fallon blushed at the comment and hoped Kirby didn't notice.

Kirby ground to a halt in front of the largest pumpkin Fallon had ever seen in her life. It rose nearly to their hips, just as wide as it was tall. Kirby nodded approvingly and slapped the top of the pumpkin like a used-car salesman. "I want this one."

"That one is almost as big as you are," Fallon protested. "You could probably fit in that thing."

Kirby's eyes lit up. "Do you really think so?"

"That was not a challenge nor an invitation. Besides, there's no way it'll fit in my car."

"You said I could have two pumpkins," Kirby said stubbornly, crossing her arms. "I want this one."

"How do you think we'll get that home? We probably can't even lift it."

Kirby shrugged. "Figure it out."

"No. Go pick out two that we can actually carry."

Kirby pouted for a moment, then slunk away, cursing under her breath, when she realized Fallon wasn't going to budge on this one. Fallon waited until her back was turned, then motioned the farmer over and slipped him a handful of bills.

The pumpkin would be delivered by the next afternoon. Fallon couldn't wait to see Kirby's face when it arrived.

Maybe fall wasn't so bad, after all.


	2. trick or treat

Fallon sat at the table in the sunroom, having her morning coffee and croissant and reading the various newspapers she had delivered to the manor every morning. She liked to read as many as she could get her hands on, interested in how the different outlets varied in their reporting of different stories. She might not be working as much as she'd like to, but that didn't mean that she couldn't stay up to date on the latest happenings in the business world.

Her treasured solitude of the previous few weeks had shifted, turning into something darker and far less pleasant than it used to be. Her relationship with Liam had all but fizzled. Blake and Cristal were still cavorting around somewhere - Charleston, the last she'd heard. The _Atlantix_ were well in hand, and even if they weren't, Culhane would never have asked her for help, anyway. Sam had gone off the grid in Argentina, doing some kind of truly horrifying ayahuasca retreat that Fallon would never have agreed to. Anders wasn't back yet, still tending to Steven - Fallon could barely even think about him without feeling a pang deep in the bottom of her chest. Painful as it was to think about, she missed her brother - well, the only one she claimed, anyway. _Adam - _the absolute miscreant that he was - had been skulking around lately, coming and going at unpredictable hours and lending to the general feeling of unease that hung about the manor and grounds. Unwilling to chance crossing paths with him, she'd taken to eating her breakfast in the sunroom instead of the main dining room.

Kirby had never been formally invited, but she'd taken to joining Fallon anyway. Rather than push the girl away, Fallon had quietly doubled the number of croissants on her tray and added another mug and a copy of the _Sydney Morning Herald_ to the coffee table. After their trip to the pumpkin patch, she'd realized just how much she liked the redhead's company, even if she didn't understand _why_ quite yet.

She felt an unexpected softness toward the girl; had felt it ever since the day after the Halloween dinner party. The gigantic pumpkin she'd had delivered stood proudly on the front step, and when she'd called Kirby to come see the surprise, the redhead had squealed and wrapped her in a huge, tight hug that somehow made Fallon's chest ache. She'd tucked the feeling away in the depths of her mind, reassuring herself that she was simply lonely and that Kirby, with her vibrant - if somewhat troublesome - personality, was a reasonable source of the companionship she craved.

There were soft footsteps as Kirby shuffled, rubbing her eyes, into the sunroom. She was still wearing plaid pajama pants and a band shirt so old that the logo had faded to the point of being illegible, standing out in sharp contrast to Fallon's crisp silk robe and coordinating head wrap. She unceremoniously plopped down on the settee opposite Fallon, pouring herself a cup of coffee and stirring a concerning amount of sugar into it.

"Morning," Fallon greeted, turning the page of her newspaper.

"Yeah, good morning," Kirby yawned, her accent tumbling out of her mouth even more noticeably than usual now that her voice was still thick with sleep. "Hand me the Sydney paper, would you?"

"Are your arms broken?" Fallon asked, but handed her the folded paper anyway as she exchanged the now-rumpled _Atlanta Journal-Constitution _for a fresh copy of the _New York Times._

"Where's the painful chocolate?" Kirby asked, setting the paper aside and piling croissants onto a china plate.

"It's _pain au chocolat," _Fallon corrected. "And I ate them. I didn't think you were ever going to drag yourself out of bed."

Kirby busied herself with buttering a croissant and didn't dignify her with a response. There was a comfortable silence for a few moments as they both opened their papers and nibbled at their pastries, but it was quickly broken by Kirby's exaggerated gasp.

Fallon lowered her paper, not even trying to hide the irritation on her face. _"What?"_

"Today's Halloween. I didn't realize it had come up already."

"...So?" Fallon asked, unsure what the problem was.

"So, what are we doing?"

"What do you mean? We already had the dinner party."

Kirby snorted. "That was last weekend! Don't tell me you stopped celebrating the actual holiday when I left. _I _sure didn't."

Fallon paused. She had stopped celebrating Halloween the year she turned twelve, telling Blake and Alexis that she was too old for it. It had never felt like it was entirely true, but the holiday lost its spark, and she couldn't figure out just where it had gone. Thinking about it now, though, the answer was suddenly clear: Australia. Kirby had left when they were eleven, and Fallon had never celebrated Halloween again.

Aware that she'd been quiet for a moment too long, Fallon shrugged. "I guess it just always seemed like there was something more important to do," she replied, and even as it came it out she realized just how lame that sounded.

"Something more important to do when you're _twelve_? Like what?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. That's depressing. I want to do something tonight." Kirby let her lip poke out just a little, and Fallon found herself internally cursing her for somehow always getting her way.

"_Fine,"_ she acquiesced. "I don't want to go out or anything, though. Downtown Atlanta would be a nightmare. Full of handsy drunks or worse."

Kirby flicked her fingers. "That's not what I had in mind at all. We're too old for that shit. Halloween isn't really a thing at home. Not for adults, anyway. I just wanted something low-key, maybe dressing up and handing out candy to trick or treaters. "

"The staff usually does that," Fallon dismissed, turning the page of her newspaper, but she had to begrudgingly admit that her interest was piqued.

"Oh _no_, I'm sure they'd _hate _getting off early to take their own kids trick or treating." Kirby rolled her eyes and pulled a fleck of pastry off of her croissant. "It would surely _kill_ you to dress up and hand out candy with me."

Fallon groaned. "Why does everything you want to do always involve being surrounded by sticky little three year olds?"

"Why does everything _you _want to do always involve being in meetings surrounded by greying old men that look like they're reanimated corpses?" Kirby shot back.

"Atlanta is old money, we've discussed that," Fallon snapped. "Besides-"

"Fallon, I'm not trying to get into another argument about Georgia politics with you," Kirby interjected, cutting her off. "Stop changing the subject. I'm handing out candy to trick or treaters tonight and watching a scary movie. Join me or don't, I don't care."

Kirby went back to her croissant, looking quite nonchalant as she did so. It irritated Fallon to realize that her indifference bothered her, and it burned even more to realize that she was pouting about it. She rolled her eyes, snapping her newspaper shut and setting her coffee cup back down on its saucer more forcefully than she meant to.

"Fine. But I get to pick the candy."

Later that afternoon, there was a knock at her door, and Fallon opened it to find Kirby standing in front of her. She wore a long, sequined red dress that was slit to her thigh and purple silk gloves that Fallon thought she recognized from her own closet. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in ornate curls, and she stood even taller than Fallon than she usually did, thanks to a pair of especially lethal stilettos.

"Like what you see?" Kirby teased, and Fallon immediately reddened as she realized she'd caught her breath and had been giving the redhead a careful once-over.

"I'm just- wondering what the hell you're wearing," Fallon said quickly, hoping that the snark would distract her. "Aren't those gloves mine? And who are you supposed to be, Miss October?"

As she often did, Kirby ignored her, adjusting the gloves and preening a bit. "Purple does nothing for your complexion. And I'm Jessica Rabbit. Obviously. What are _you_ supposed to be?"

Fallon wilted slightly, suddenly abashed by just how little effort she'd put into her costume: a tennis outfit and visor, her frayed old racket leaning against the doorframe waiting for her to pick it up. Her makeup was done to perfection, as always, but it was left over from earlier and the overall effect was significantly less dazzling than Kirby's outfit. She shrugged and didn't respond, not wanting Kirby to pick up on her embarrassment anymore than she already had.

"Uh huh." Kirby looked at her disapprovingly, and Fallon was surprised to feel her cheeks redden under her gaze. "I know this holiday doesn't mean anything to you, Fallon, but you could at least _pretend_ to be interested."

"I _am _interested," Fallon protested. "I just didn't realize we were going all out."

Kirby snorted, clearly unconvinced. "A _Carrington_ didn't realize we were going to go all out? Didn't you throw a dog a birthday party last year?"

"It was a _cat, _and it was not a birthday party, it was a _quinceañera_." She folded her arms, feeling oddly defensive.

"Because that's _so _much better. At least tell me you managed to handle getting the candy."

Fallon rolled her eyes and pulled a shopping bag from the hook on the back of her door. "I've worked for a Fortune 500 company off and on since I was sixteen, and you think I can't handle getting Postmates to deliver a few pounds of candy."

"There's no telling with you," Kirby sniffed. "Especially with that costume."

"Keep it up and I'll stay up here, the trick or treaters will riot, and _you _can deal with it."

At first, handing out the candy had seemed like it would be fun. Fallon squirreled a few packets of Swedish Fish away into her pocket for later, and oohed and aahed appropriately at the various witches and monsters and princesses that came to the door. She'd bought enough candy that she could afford to be generous, and the squeals of delight from the children really did make her feel good in a way she hadn't been expecting.

But then it never seemed to _end._

The stream of trick or treaters had been going steadily for over two hours, and it was showing no sign of letting up anytime soon. They'd all but given up on their movie, having to pause it so frequently to answer the door that they were barely ten minutes into the film, and what they had seen was so piecemeal that Fallon couldn't even tell what the plot was supposed to be.

They'd started off taking turns, but the line of trick or treaters grew so large that both of them were soon needed to hand out candy. Fallon sighed as she waved off a pillowcase ghost and a robot, eyeing them carefully to make sure they made it down the steep steps and promptly exited the winding driveway. She didn't remember Halloween being this stressful as a child, but then she supposed she'd never been on this side of it before.

She'd already had to wrestle her racket out of the hands of two little boys that were making a game out of whacking each other with it. Some of the smaller children were particularly taken by Kirby, their eyes shining as they reached out sticky fingers to touch what was surely a real-life princess. Kirby would never admit to it, Fallon knew, but she was clearly growing weary. More than a few sequins were dangling haphazardly off of her dress, her hair was falling out of its curls, and her gloves were stained with chocolate. She kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, and Fallon realized the stilettos had to be killing her legs.

She cleared her throat, closing the front door and tightening her drooping ponytail. Kirby was knocking back a glass of champagne from the tray she'd set out on the front table.

"I think it might be about time to close up shop, don't you think?"

Kirby turned to face her, her upper lip glistening with the champagne. "It's not _that_ late."

"No, but…" Fallon paused. The last thing Kirby would respond to would be her concern that she was tired, so she decided to come up with another excuse. "We've already given out, like, ten pounds of candy, and the kids are completely ignoring the walkway. I just watched Spiderman stomp the hyacinths. Your dad is going to shit when he comes back and the gardens are ruined."

"Isn't spreading joy to children more important than that?" Kirby asked wryly, but Fallon could tell her resolve was weakening.

"We've already spread joy to half the population of Atlanta by now. I'd say we've done our share. I don't think the Halloween police are going to come after us."

"Why would they," Kirby smirked, "when the regular police are here so much."

Fallon laid a hand on her chest, feigning a hurt expression. "Bold words from a girl whose country originated as a penal colony."

"I've paid my dues."

A flash of the car that had taken Kirby away screamed to the forefront of Fallon's mind before she could fight it back. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, determined to push the memory away before it could affect their banter.

"I think we both have, for tonight," she said lightly, and reached over to flick off the porch light, letting any additional trick or treaters know that they were closed for business. "Maybe we can finally finish that movie. Or restart it, since I have no idea what's going on."

Kirby nodded sleepily, grabbing the bottle of champagne off the table and following her back into the living room.

While Fallon fiddled with the DVD player, Kirby peeled off her gloves and set about undoing the complicated straps that held the stilettos to her feet. They had been perfect for the costume, but she wasn't accustomed to wearing them for long periods like Fallon was and could tell that her calves would be sore in the morning. She dragged an overstuffed ottoman over to her spot on the sofa, propping up her feet and settling in with her bottle of champagne and the remnants of the candy bowl in her lap.

When Fallon finally got the movie started over and turned to face her, she paused for a moment, watching as the redhead tried to hunt in her bowl for a packet of Sweet Tarts. She really did look tired. Her hair was almost completely straight again and her winged eyeliner was smeared along her temples. Fallon was glad she'd called it a night when she had.

"Ready?" Fallon asked, plopping down beside her on the sofa.

"Almost," Kirby murmured. "If I could just find the-"

She stopped, cut off by the packet of Sweet Tarts that Fallon had apparently magically produced from her pocket and held out to her.

"I remembered you liked them," Fallon explained, pulling a few more packets out of her pocket. "And I like Swedish Fish. So I hid some for each of us. You didn't think I was going to let the trick or treaters have _everything, _did you?"

Kirby smiled, gathering the Sweet Tarts out of Fallon's outstretched hand and dumping them into her bowl for safekeeping. She was oddly touched by the gesture, a sort of warm feeling spreading through her at the knowledge that Fallon had remembered her favorite candy since they were eleven.

Well, _maybe_ it was warmth. Maybe it was the champagne.

Kirby ripped open a packet of Sweet Tarts and took another hit off the bottle. She'd left the flute in the foyer, deciding that it was just a waste of time.

Fallon bit the head off of a Swedish Fish and settled back into the sofa as the shrieking score warbled out of the surround sound speakers and a pair of giant, bloody scissors filled the screen. Kirby had picked the movie.

"What is this about, again?"

"Girl goes crazy and kills her friends," Kirby yawned, crunching on a Sweet Tart. "Starting with the pretty girl."

"Mmm. Charming."

They fell into a comfortable silence - there wasn't much to talk about in the middle of a movie - and Kirby quickly downed the rest of the bottle to herself. It was barely the climax of the movie, and her eyelids were already drooping. Sighing, she set the bowl of candy on the ottoman and laid down on the sofa.

Sudden pressure against her thigh coupled with the crescendo of strings on the movie's score startled Fallon, causing her to drop a fish. She looked down to find Kirby, warm and tipsy, nestling her head into her lap.

She bit her lip, fighting warring urges to either shove her away or... start playing with her hair? - because _that _wouldn't be weird - trying instead to relax and remain nonchalant. Kirby was already nearly dozing, so Fallon grabbed the remote and turned the volume down to make sure she wouldn't be disturbed - the movie was a little too gory for her, anyway. She looked so… _sweet _curled up like this, and the strange, swirling feelings Fallon had been trying to shove back in the recesses of her mind were swimming uncomfortably to the surface.

Once Kirby's breathing evened out, Fallon carefully tugged the remaining packet of Sweet Tarts out of her fist and leaned over slightly to drop it back into her bowl. As she sat back up, her hand drifted downward to gently sweep a few wisps of hair away from her forehead.


	3. thankful

When Kirby woke up on the day before Thanksgiving, it wasn't because her alarm had gone off. She rarely set one, anyway, able to go about her days relatively freely due to her lack of responsibilities - though she _had _been accompanying Fallon on more than the occasional business venture as of late - and being the eve of a holiday, she'd planned to sleep in before joining Fallon for their morning coffee and croissants in the sunroom.

That particular plan was foiled, however, when she was rudely awakened at 11am by the smell of smoke.

The acrid scent curled through the air towards her, assaulting her senses and immediately bringing her out of any lingering drowsiness. Growing up in a country that was plagued by fire, Kirby was uncomfortably acquainted with it; the unmistakable smell triggered her fight or flight instinct.

She jumped out of bed and dashed into the hall, stopping at one of the crystal-paned fire extinguisher cases that had been installed after the previous year's manor fire and Fallon's unexpected gas leak. She fumbled for the little silver hammer that was meant to break the glass, but, unable to get a grip on it, gave up and slammed the point of her elbow into the pane instead. The panes cracked, then shattered.

Armed with the extinguisher, Kirby followed the smoke down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the smoke detector was beeping angrily. Fallon stood in front of the oven, shouting colorful curses and trying to use a Kate Spade oven mitt to beat back what were clearly flames.

"Fallon!" Kirby cried, rushing around the large island to her side. What had once been some sort of pastry sat ablaze in front of her, the flames licking at her oven mitt and jumping onto the long sleeve of her shirt.

Fallon was too flustered to respond, continuing to try to smother the fire, but Kirby had already pulled the pin out of the fire extinguisher and squeezed. A few sweeping movements later and the fire was out, leaving the girls with nothing but a sodden, smoldering pile of sludge.

"Jesus, Fallon, haven't we had enough fires for one year?" Kirby asked. Breathless, she set the extinguisher down on the granite countertop with a _clang _and dusted herself off.

Fallon turned to face her. Her hair was done in a French twist that was impressively ornate to be so early in the day. The long sleeved shirt she was wearing matched the black in her gingham skirt, and she had on a literal string of pearls to complete the ensemble. She looked like some kind of housewife, especially compared to Kirby's ragged pajamas, but no matter how oddly appealing she might look, it didn't distract Kirby from noticing that her eyes were still wide and fearful from what had just happened.

"I could've handled it," she insisted, brushing past Kirby to the sink. She pulled up her slightly singed sleeve, running cold water over the burn that marked her wrist. "You didn't need to go all fire brigade on me."

Kirby picked up the scorched oven mitt and waved it at her. "Because _this _is such an effective way to put out a fire."

Fallon rolled her eyes, turning off the water. "Fine. Thank you." She motioned to Kirby. "What happened to your arm?"

Confused, Kirby looked down and rotated her arm. For the first time, she noticed blood trickling down her elbow and forearm, clearly cut from where she'd broken the glass. With all the adrenaline that had been coursing through her, she hadn't even felt it.

"Oh, I- I needed to get the fire extinguisher out."

"The hammer too good for you?"

"I smelled _smoke," _Kirby snapped. "This house tries to catch on fire every five minutes and the last time it did, someone _died. _Forgive me for not wanting the next someone to be you."

Even at the unexpected mention of Cristal, Fallon didn't well up - she rarely did - but her eyes did noticeably soften with Kirby's explanation, and she reached out the grab the redhead's hand.

"Come on, let's go get ourselves cleaned up."

Keeping hold of Kirby's hand, Fallon led her out of the kitchen and a few meters down the hallway to where a secondary butler's pantry was tucked away in a small alcove. It was crammed full of necessities that Anders and the rest of the staff didn't use that often. Fallon rummaged in one of the cabinets for a moment, finally emerging with a dusty first aid kit.

"Hop up," she instructed, patting the counter beside her. "I'll do you and then you do me."

Kirby smirked, sidling over to her and boosting herself up onto the counter. "Shouldn't you at least buy me dinner first?"

Kirby was surprised to see her cheeks redden in a blush. "Don't be gross," Fallon snapped, popping open the clasps on the kit and starting to root through it. She surfaced with an alcohol swab and some bandages and began cleaning Kirby's cuts a bit more aggressively than the redhead thought was strictly necessary.

"That _stings," _Kirby whined.

Fallon rolled her eyes. "Oh no. Are you okay." She deadpanned, but she softened her approach and bent down to blow on the cuts anyway.

"That's better."

Fallon allowed her a small smile and began taping bandages over Kirby's elbow. When she reached the smaller scratches on her forearm, she took Kirby's hand to hold her steady while she cleaned them. Kirby could feel unexpected goosebumps racing across her skin from the contact and prayed that Fallon didn't notice them.

She cleared her throat, deciding to make small talk to try to ease the sudden, odd tension that had settled between them. "So, what exactly _were _you trying to do when you nearly blew up the oven?"

"I didn't nearly blow up the oven," Fallon muttered defensively. She finished with Kirby's scratches, letting go of her hand and motioning for her to get down. Kirby found herself having to make a concerted effort not to pout.

"Okay." Kirby sifted through the first aid kit as Fallon took her place on the counter. She pulled some gauze out of its depths and started to carefully roll up Fallon's sleeve. "So, again, what _were _you doing?"

Fallon blushed again, harder this time, and muttered something under her breath.

Kirby had been loosely wrapping gauze around Fallon's burned wrist, but paused to look up at her. "What was that?"

"I said, I was… making a pie. For you."

"For _me?" _Kirby looked at her carefully, surprised by the response. Fallon rarely did anything that wasn't at least a little bit self-serving, and this was no exception. "Why?"

"Well, it's- it's your first Thanksgiving in a long time, and your dad still hasn't come back, and I heard Martha and Rebecca talking about the desserts they have planned for tomorrow and they're all weird fruity things that Cristal picked and they're all swimming in strawberries, which you're allergic to. So I got Culhane to email me his mom's sweet potato pie recipe. I just wanted you to have something you could eat, you know. Something special. Something you like. It's kind of your house, too."

Kirby steeled herself for some kind of sarcastic crack about her overstaying her welcome, but it never came. Fallon seemed to realize that she'd been rambling, because she flushed pink again and fell silent, staring steadily at the stocked shelves across from her.

Kirby quietly wound the length of gauze around Fallon's wrist again. She _was_ allergic to strawberries, that was certainly true, but the last time Fallon had seen her with hives because of that had to have been at least sixteen years ago. It seemed that Fallon cared more about her; _remembered_ much more about her than she realized - the extra croissants on the tray at breakfast, the Sweet Tarts on Halloween, and now this. She'd felt an odd kind of pull towards her since she'd moved back in, and she was starting to realize, somewhat unexpectedly, that her fondness for Fallon might not be completely one-sided.

"That was… incredibly thoughtful, Fallon. Thank you."

"...I didn't even get it done, though. The stupid thing burst into flames."

"It was the thought that counts," Kirby said gently. She taped Fallon's gauze into place, then tossed the supplies back in the kit and snapped it closed.

"It literally isn't," Fallon insisted. "I've never understood that expression. The thought doesn't mean anything when it got you all sliced up and... _pieless_."

"We can always try again. Together."

* * *

It only took the girls about forty-five minutes to dispose of the ruined pie and scrape the remaining charred pieces out of the oven. Fallon had complained about getting dirty at first, but relented when Kirby pointed out that she was already soiled from the fire extinguisher. The kitchen sat clean and ready for their next try, a Tiffany candle burning on the counter in an attempt to remove the burned smell from the air.

"You're _sure_ you know what you're doing?" Fallon asked, eyeing Kirby somewhat warily as she chopped sweet potatoes and added them to a pot.

Kirby snorted. "What, you don't trust me?"

"I didn't say _that_," she pouted. She'd been relegated to spoon duty, somewhat grumpily stirring the pot as Kirby took over the main preparations.

"You didn't have to. Stir."

"My wrist is burned to a crisp and you're making me stir."

Kirby rolled her eyes. "It isn't burned to a crisp, and I thought you'd want to help. You can always go pout in the living room, if you prefer." She finished chopping sweet potatoes and pulled the crust out of the fridge, patting it into the pie pan.

"Not pouting," Fallon insisted, but her lower lip poked out in spite of herself.

"Stop. If you're good I'll let you make the next one."

"The next one?"

"Yeah, the recipe makes enough filling for two. That explains why yours caught on fire, it was overfilled." Kirby looked at her, bemused. "Kind of impressive, really. You can read all sorts of mind-numbing press releases and white papers, but you can't handle a recipe."

"We all have our special talents," Fallon relented, without a trace of animosity. "Why don't you finish the pie. I'll just make us a drink."

"That actually sounds perfect," Kirby agreed. "Moscow Mule?"

"Sure, be right back." She trotted off to the bar in the living room, and Kirby could hear the faint clinking of ice cubes as she set about making the drinks.

In Fallon's absence, Kirby carefully filled the pie shell, sliding the pan into the oven and setting the remaining filling back in the fridge to chill. It was kind of nice, she thought, to finally be able to show Fallon up on something. Sometimes it almost felt like she owed Fallon for everything she'd done for her; like somehow she was indebted to her for her happiness. Even if it might not be exactly true, it was a welcome difference to feel like Fallon needed her for once.

Before she could think on it too much more, Fallon returned with her Moscow Mule in a frosted copper mug, her typical Southside clenched in her other hand.

"Thank you," Kirby said, carefully heaving the drink into her hand. "The pie is just in the oven, we can sit for a minute."

Rather than sit in one of the chairs that lined the breakfast nook, Fallon hoisted herself directly onto the counter opposite them. Kirby followed suit, boosting herself onto the counter across from her and sipping her drink.

"This is really good," she commented, twirling her cocktail straw. "What did you do to it?"

Fallon swallowed her sip of her Southside and wiped her lips before answering. "Spicy ginger beer," she answered. "Otherwise it's too sweet. That's my secret."

Kirby nodded, somewhat lamely taking another sip as she tried to think of what else to say. This had been happening a lot, lately; this weird kind of tension rising between her and Fallon, making their conversations as stilted and awkward as though they were strangers to one another, even though that couldn't be further from the truth. She suspected Fallon felt it, too, but neither of them had any idea where it had come from or how to fix it. They just sat, quiet, until one of them broke the silence. It was excruciating.

Mercifully, Fallon finally spoke, not waiting quite as long as she usually did.

"Have you heard from your dad?"

Kirby sputtered, accidentally inhaling spicy ginger beer and starting to cough. She would rather Fallon had stayed quiet all day than to bring _that _up.

"No," she wheezed, setting her mug down on the counter beside her. "You heard from Steven?"

Fallon's looked down into her drink and shook her head. "I invited them for Thanksgiving but I never heard anything."

"...You did?"

"Yeah? I mean, I miss my brother. And I didn't want you to have to spend Thanksgiving without your family."

"You have Adam," Kirby remarked dryly, taking another sip of her drink.

"_He _doesn't count."

"Besides," Kirby continued, ignoring Fallon's sour expression as she continued to glower at the mention of Adam, "I might miss my dad, but it's not like I'm completely alone. I have plenty to be thankful for."

Fallon looked at her expectantly. "Like what?"

Kirby raised her glass, ignoring the sudden swarm of butterflies that had taken unexpected residence in the pit of her stomach. Sitting here, in this warm kitchen, the homey scent of the baking pie perfuming the air, she suddenly had the courage to say exactly what she wanted to say. "Like you."

Fallon blushed, a genuinely pleased smile spreading across her face. She raised her own glass to clink against Kirby's. "I'm thankful for you, too."

The girls each took a pull from their glasses, and when they settled back into silence, it wasn't at all uncomfortable. It was true, Kirby thought - she _was _grateful for Fallon. Even if she didn't quite understand the depth of what that meant yet, it felt good that she'd let the girl know, and it felt even better to have it reciprocated. It really didn't matter that her dad wasn't here. He'd return in time, and Fallon was perfect company until then.


	4. noel

Once Thanksgiving ended, Fallon and Kirby were largely left alone again. Blake and Cristal had made a brief appearance at dinner, but had left before dessert to go on yet another vacation - this time, spending the holiday in the penthouse they kept in New York. Fallon was beginning to suspect that the frequent vacations were nothing more than an excuse to be away from the manor, and she couldn't say she blamed them. Steven and Anders had not followed up on their invitation to dinner, and as much as she tried to play it off like she didn't care, the feeling of despair in the pit of her stomach had started to deepen, robbing her of her admittedly already scant holiday cheer.

Kirby had liked her pie, though. That was something, she supposed.

As December opened, Fallon tried to keep busy, writing press releases for the _Atlantix_ \- the only contact she'd had at all with Michael, aside from the pie recipe he'd provided - and contributing to a weekly business column in the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution. _

The small amount of work kept her surprisingly busy, on the road attending games and meeting with business leaders. She took Kirby with her on most of the trips, figuring she had to be just as disappointed in Steven and Anders as she and Blake were, and not wanting to leave her to fend for herself with Adam, who was still coming and going as he pleased. It had worked out surprisingly well. Not only was she an increasingly decent source of company, but she had also begun to prove herself as a capable secretary, as well. She kept track of Fallon's appointments in a planner she'd purchased especially for the purpose, carefully color coding each entry and quietly taking notes in the meetings she was permitted to sit in on - which was most of them. Fallon couldn't explain it, but even as her Christmas cheer dissipated, her fondness for Kirby was one thing that hadn't managed to wane.

Kirby's attitude, meanwhile, was nearly completely opposite to Fallon's. She didn't find the work Fallon assigned her appealing at all, but, eager to remain in the brunette's good graces, she did it well and without complaint. She would have preferred to remain in the manor and decorate for Christmas - properly, this time, without any of the disaster that had been Halloween left to jinx her - but if this was what Fallon needed from her, then that was fine. She knew that the girl was stung by Steven and Anders' lack of appearance on Thanksgiving, and so was trying to be a good sport and support her - even if it meant ignoring the increasingly painful fact that she had a crush on her.

Kirby wasn't sure when her feelings had shifted from platonic to something more; she'd only noted them recently and been somewhat horrified when she had. It wasn't that she was afraid of liking girls; _that_ had been a thing for quite awhile. It was that she was afraid of liking _Fallon. _Despite the brunette's recent warmth towards her, she wasn't at all sure if the feelings would be reciprocated. Every time she did something that Kirby thought might be indicative of her feeling _something - _the pie she'd made her at Thanksgiving; rescuing her from the house when she got skeeved out by Adam; shrugging out of her blazer and draping it over her shoulders when she shivered during meetings, no longer used to a December that was cold - she almost immediately followed it up with a sharp glance or cutting remark that nearly gave Kirby whiplash. She had no idea where she stood with the girl anymore, and that increasing sense of pressure had begun to stress her out.

It was mid-December, now; the girls were returning from yet another business trip, this time a feature that Fallon had needed to write on location in Savannah. The trip had felt longer than usual. They'd driven the nearly four hours there instead of flying - well, Fallon had. They still hadn't found a new driver for her since Culhane had left - and the person they'd been interviewing had such a strong Southern accent that it had taken nearly all of Kirby's attention to be able to even understand them, much less to take notes that Fallon could rely on later. She'd tried to rewrite them into something cohesive on the drive back, but her pen shook and the uneven road made her paper bounce until it started to make her feel carsick. She gave up for the time being, capping her pen and tucking it and the notebook into the glove compartment.

"Are we almost there?"

Fallon was gripping the steering wheel a little more tightly than was strictly necessary, still not entirely accustomed to doing the driving herself. "Only about an hour or so."

"Okay." She pulled the strap of the seatbelt over her head, tucking it behind her shoulder so it wouldn't cut into her neck.

Fallon cast her eyes over to her and clucked disapprovingly. "Ah. Nope. Wear it right, the last thing I need is for some trucker to cut us off and you go flying through the windshield."

Kirby begrudgingly pulled the seatbelt back over her shoulder, unsure as to whether she was pleased that Fallon was concerned or annoyed that she was scolding her like an insolent eight year old. She decided to retaliate by grabbing Fallon's enormous iced coffee and taking a huge pull from it.

Fallon looked over at her again, but didn't scold her this time. "Go ahead, you deserve it. You did well today."

Kirby flushed a little at the unexpected compliment. "Thanks. That guy was a little hard to understand."

"Yeah, for me too. The accent changes the closer you get to Alabama. More deep south."

"How did _you_ manage to end up without a Southern accent?" Kirby asked, the question suddenly occurring to her. "I don't think I've ever even heard you say 'y'all'."

"Formative years spent mostly with New York governesses, I guess," Fallon replied, flicking on her turn signal somewhat aggressively. "Steven doesn't have one either. I'm surprised we didn't turn out sounding like Kiwis with how much your dad was around."

She'd clearly meant the reference to Anders to be lighthearted, but Kirby felt the pang anyway. Fallon must've felt it, too, because she cleared her throat and tried to change the subject.

"You can take a nap if you want. It's a straight shot from here back to Atlanta, I can handle it."

Kirby nodded, reclining her seat a bit and yawning for effect. She mostly just wanted to end the conversation, but she'd squeeze in a nap if she could get one. "Okay. Night."

"Night."

* * *

Kirby was awakened an hour later by Fallon at her door, gently tapping on her knee.

"Kirby. _Kirby. _Wake up, we're home."

She stirred and looked around. Night had already fallen, so Fallon had pulled the car directly up to the manor's front door - neither of them much liked walking from the garage in the dark. With all the press that had shown up on the front lawn after Matthew's death and the affair with Trixie, they were all too aware of just how easy it was for anyone to to scale the fence.

"Okay, okay, I'm up," she yawned. She flicked Fallon's hand away from her knee, embarrassed by the goosebumps that had been racing across her skin just at that little touch. She reached for the glove compartment to retrieve her planner and notebook, but Fallon shook her head.

"There'll be time for that tomorrow. Let's just go inside."

Kirby nodded, still a little bleary eyed from sleep. Fallon stepped aside to give her room to get out of the car, then shut the door behind her and locked it.

They quietly walked to the front door, neither of them really having much to say. It was a cold, clear night; Kirby could see the faint twinkle of stars lining the inky sky. She raised a hand and started to point a particular constellation out to Fallon, but she was struggling a little under the weight of her carryall. Kirby dropped her hand, feeling a bit stung by her inattention. She wasn't looking, anyway.

Fallon fitted her key into the lock and dropped her bag on the table in the foyer, finally turning to Kirby with a small smile on her face.

"I have a surprise for you."

"...A surprise?"

There it was again. Disregard immediately followed by attention.

Whiplash.

"Yes. Go look in the living room."

Kirby put her own small satchel on the foyer table beside Fallon's bag and did as she was told. She had no idea what to expect - she'd really just kind of wanted to come home and go to bed. As she rounded the corner into the living room, though, she could feel her eyes widen in surprise.

A tall, pristine Douglas fir stood proudly in one corner of the living room, and judging from its lush needles and strong pine scent, it was real. It stood well over Kirby's head - it had to be at least eight feet tall. It had already been strung with several strands of white lights, and the whole thing twinkled handsomely as Kirby stared at it.

"What do you think?"

"It's beautiful," Kirby replied, finally finding her voice. She'd mentioned wanting a tree to Fallon several times, but they'd been so busy lately that she'd resigned herself to not getting one. "How did you do this?"

"I pulled a few strings. I know how important it was to you. It sucks that we're alone for the holidays, but I figured we could at least do this together."

"Do what?"

Fallon gestured to several boxes of decorations on the marble coffee table that Kirby hadn't noticed before. "I had Martha and Rebecca bring these up from the basement," she said, looking pleased with herself. She picked up a remote from the end table beside her and clicked it, and Christmas music suddenly started warbling out of the surround sound speakers. "I thought we could decorate it together, if you wanted. You deserve a reward for being so helpful to me lately."

"Can we turn on the fireplace?" Kirby asked, feeling excitement start to rise in the pit of her stomach. Fallon might give her whiplash, but she always knew exactly how to make her happy.

"We can do anything you want," Fallon replied. "I'll be right back."

She turned to leave, and Kirby flicked the switch on the wall to turn on the gas fireplace, then went over to one of the boxes and started going through it. She'd normally have assumed Fallon had bought all new ornaments for the occasion, but she'd mentioned the staff bringing them up from the basement, which might mean that they were ornaments she'd already had.

The first box turned out to be just regular decorations: tinsel, garland, even a velvet Santa hat. Kirby dusted off the decorations and draped a few strands of tinsel and garland around her neck, putting the Santa hat on her head. Resigning herself to the fact that there were likely no ornaments in that box, she set it on the sofa and started rifling through the next one.

This box was more promising - it was packed to the brim with smaller parcels swathed in tissue paper and bubble wrap. The first ornament she pulled out was a popsicle stick creation accented with puzzle pieces, a school photo of a young, gap-toothed Fallon inserted into the makeshift frame. Kirby smiled, delighted that her suspicions had been confirmed - these were the Carringtons' family ornaments; the ones that she and Fallon used to use to decorate the small trees in their bedrooms as children… which meant that, somewhere, there was an ornament of Kirby's own, left there when she'd been whisked away from the manor so many years ago.

Fallon was taking longer than she expected, so Kirby started going through a little more quickly. She pawed through salt dough ornaments with Fallon and Steven's tiny thumbprints, popsicle stick reindeer, paper clip angels, misshapen pony bead snowflakes, and… there. Nestled in a dusty tin that had once held sugar cookies.

This ornament wasn't handmade, but it was one that was special to Kirby all the same. It was one that her father had given to her when she was small; it in turn had been a gift from her mother to him on one of their first Christmases. A small ceramic dove clutched a sprig of holly and mistletoe in its beak. Anders had always said that Alicia would carry it around in her pocket until Christmas Eve, whipping it out and demanding a kiss whenever the whim arose. Kirby had liked it when she was little just because it was her mother's, but now, remembering the story that accompanied it, she felt a nervous little rush go through her. Maybe she'd take a leaf out of her mother's book.

Kirby tucked the little dove into her pocket just as Fallon reentered the room, carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne and an array of Christmas cookies. Kirby smiled when she saw her, impressed with just how much thought she had put into the whole thing.

"Wow, all of this just for us?"

Fallon shrugged, setting the tray on the table so she could sit on the edge of the sofa and kick off her heels. "It's not that big of a deal." She stood back up and crossed over to Kirby, the height difference between them even more apparent now that she didn't have shoes on. She hefted a glass of champagne off the tray and handed Kirby the other, raising it in a toast.

"To new traditions."

Kirby beamed and clinked her glass against Fallon's, then took a sip. As usual, the champagne was crisp and perfectly chilled - as if Fallon would settle for anything less.

"You wanna pick the first ornament?" Kirby asked. The little dove in her pocket suddenly felt like it weighed a ton, and she was very steadily losing her nerve.

Fallon's eyes strayed to the mess Kirby had made of the ornament box. She set her glass of champagne back down on the tray and grabbed a cookie, then picked up the first ornament Kirby had found - the puzzle piece and popsicle stick one with her picture in it.

"We made these at school," she explained, crossing over to the tree. "My mom wasn't a fan, she said my glue application was shoddy."

"I didn't notice," Kirby assured her. "And you were a kid."

"Still, Alexis was never the most encouraging parent," she mused, fixing the ornament to a prominent lower branch. "That's why I dragged all these out instead of just buying new ones. Finally get to have the tree we want for once."

Kirby felt a rush of warmth roll through her at Fallon's use of the word 'we' and bent to select an ornament of her own. Rifling through the box, she surfaced with a metal cutout of the continent of Australia emblazoned with its flag, dangling from a red ribbon.

"A tribute to my homeland," she said, hanging it on a branch near Fallon's picture. "I'm still not used to having my seasons swapped around."

"Would you rather be there than here?" Fallon asked. There was some kind of implication in her question that Kirby couldn't quite put her finger on.

"God, no," she replied, a little bit too quickly. "It's _so _hot right now. And I wouldn't have anyone to spend the holiday with."

Fallon was quiet for a moment, feeling guilty - sometimes it was all too easy to forget that Alicia had passed away.

"Anyway," Kirby continued, grabbing a sugar cookie and taking a bite, "If I wasn't here, who would take notes for you?"

Fallon softened. "Is that really all you think I think you do?"

"No, but it is my main job, isn't it?"

"I gave you that job so you'd…" She trailed off, taking another long sip of her champagne. "Never mind."

"So I'd what?" Kirby asked curiously. One hand drifted to her pocket, ready to pull the dove out when she felt the moment was right.

"So you wouldn't be alone here," Fallon explained. Her face felt hot. "I mean… so you'd be with me."

She seemed embarrassed by her confession, turning pink and charging toward the coffee table to retrieve her glass of champagne and take a healthy gulp.

Butterflies were starting to gather in Kirby's stomach and she reached into her pocket, fingers closing around the little dove. "I have another ornament I want to hang. Come help me."

Fallon once again abandoned her champagne and crossed back over to Kirby. "You know I'm shorter than you. I don't know how much help you're expecting me to be."

"Shh." Kirby pulled the little dove out of her pocket and held it over their heads, trying to ignore how her fingers were shaking as she did so. "Look. Mistletoe."

Fallon looked up to see the mistletoe clutched in the dove's beak, then back at Kirby, her eyes wide as she tried to understand what was going on. "Kirby, I-"

Kirby leaned in and pressed her lips to Fallon's before she could lose her nerve; before the brunette had a chance to get another word out. Fallon was stiff at first; unsure, but Kirby swore she could feel her lips soften and then she was putting her hands on her hips and-

Fallon ducked her head and broke the kiss, using her hands on Kirby's hips not to pull her closer, but to gently guide her away.

Kirby lowered the dove, a swooping feeling of disappointment replacing the butterflies she'd felt just a moment ago. Oh, _no- _

"Kirby, I…" Fallon stammered and turned pink, at a loss for words for the first time since Kirby had met her. "I think you…"

"Misread the moment," Kirby finished for her. She all but stuffed the dove back into her pocket, stepping away from Fallon so her hands fell lamely back at her sides. "No, I get it. It's fine."

"It's not that, I just… I don't think I'm in a position to be with anyone right now. Not when I'm so deep in my own head with everything that's been going on. I'm sorry if I led you on-"

"It's _fine," _Kirby insisted, wishing beyond everything that Fallon would just _shut up - _her pity stung even worse than her rejection. "I'm sorry," she said lightly, trying to push past the situation and back into their regular banter. "My mistake."

Fallon looked at her sadly. "I can, um… leave you alone, if you'd like."

Kirby couldn't think of anything she would like less, but the tension that often arose between her and Fallon had slammed back into place, feeling nearly impenetrable. "Yeah, you had a long day, so… you can go upstairs if you want, I'll finish the tree. Thank you for getting it. Really. It's beautiful."

Fallon hovered for another long moment, seeming to waver between saying something or not. She finally just cleared her throat and turned away, leaving Kirby alone in the living room.

Kirby grabbed the bottle of champagne from the coffee table and slumped to the floor by the tree, knocking back the rest of her glass before starting to swig directly from the bottle. She'd never felt so stupid. She tore the Santa hat from her head and cast it aside, feeling indescribably small in the huge living room beside the gigantic tree. The fireplace, the carols warbling from the speaker, the tray of cookies - it had all been so idyllic, and she'd had to go and ruin it.

Staring at the floor, Kirby saw a flash of bright paper tucked under the tree that she hadn't noticed before. She set the bottle of champagne aside and grabbed for the gift.

"To Kirby, From Fallon," she read aloud. She sighed heavily, briefly debating just throwing the gift into the fire - that would really be par for the course for the evening she'd had - but at the last moment she decided against it and tore it open to find a white box. Lifting the lid, she found a handwritten note from Fallon on her personalized letterhead.

"_For the girl I never thought I'd see again who I now can't live without. You're part of the family now. Merry Christmas, Kirby. Love, Fallon."_

Kirby bit her lip and set the note aside to lift the tissue paper that swathed the gift inside. She carefully removed a hand-embroidered red stocking - Fallon's own was already hanging on the mantel above the fireplace. The stocking had been elaborately decorated with woodland creatures - but wait, they weren't the typical squirrels and possums she saw in Georgia. Instead there was a holly-draped kangaroo; a quokka wearing a Santa hat; an emu with a wreath around its neck. At the top of the stocking her name had been stitched in an elaborate script.

Kirby stared at the stocking for a long moment, trying to swallow back the lump in her throat. It was beyond a doubt the most thoughtful thing she'd ever been given - aside from the ornament, of course. She wanted desperately to go up and thank Fallon for it, but thought that maybe she'd caused enough trouble for one night. Instead, she got to her feet and crossed to the fireplace, hanging it carefully beside Fallon's. As she did so, she realized - Fallon had said she wasn't ready to be with anyone right now, but she didn't say she didn't have feelings for Kirby, too. It was a small spark of hope, but it was enough to keep her going.

Kirby turned back to the boxes, methodically emptying each one and laying out the ornaments. She poured herself another glass of champagne and helped herself to another cookie as she set about her work. She and Fallon might not be together in every sense of the word, but she could give her a good Christmas - starting with a perfectly decorated tree.


	5. auld lang syne

**_Part I_**

_December 23rd_

Fallon awoke two days before Christmas feeling hungover and dazed, heaving herself out of bed and shuffling to the bathroom to brush her teeth. As she applied a fresh stripe of Tom's of Maine to her wildly overpriced sonic toothbrush, she leaned in to inspect herself in the polished mirror over her marble vanity. She wasn't at all surprised to find that she looked at least as bad as she felt. She hadn't had nearly enough champagne to justify this level of disarray, but the events of the previous night were just starting to fully sink in.

At first, she was certain she'd been dreaming - Kirby couldn't possibly have kissed her, could she? - but once she'd had a chance to settle; to wash her face and try to force herself into at least a semblance of something presentable, she found herself recognizing the truth of the memories with the same aching feeling in the pit of her stomach that so often accompanied thoughts of Kirby.

Shaking her head, she returned her toothbrush to its charging stand. She'd feel much better after she had a cup of coffee - or a bellini, whichever presented itself first - and some fresh air.

As she made her way down the hall, she noted that Kirby's door was closed, meaning she wasn't awake yet. She breathed a small sigh of relief, thankful that she would have at least a little more time to herself before she had to face her. Descending the stairs and rounding the corner to the living room, she stopped short, for once truly taken by surprise.

Fallon found the Christmas tree stunningly decorated - it genuinely looked like something out of _Southern Living. _Kirby had created tableaus on the tree, carefully grouping similar ornaments together: her and Steven's first Christmas ornaments were side by side; there was a selection of handmade elementary school efforts near the bottom, sturdy enough that Bo wouldn't break them if he ducked under the tree to sneak a drink of water from the stand; Hallmark keepsake ornaments, Shiny Brites, Alexis's extensive collection of Christopher Radkos - they all had their own space on the tree, each grouping discrete enough that it was recognizable, yet not so concrete that the tree didn't feel cohesive. The entire thing was festooned in shimmering gold tinsel that could have easily been tacky, but the effect of the lights against it transformed it into something beautiful. It truly was something to look at.

Kirby had done a spectacular job, and Fallon wanted to thank her for it, but she just couldn't seem to get up the nerve to go up and do so. Now that she was fully awake, Fallon was experiencing an odd, unpleasant feeling on top of the ache in her stomach. It wasn't at all like the excitement she got before a big presentation, or the butterflies she'd felt as she got ready for her first date with Liam. This was something entirely different, and it nearly made her feel ill. It didn't seem real that Kirby had kissed her barely twelve hours before, but at the same time, her lips still burned every time she so much as thought about it.

So Kirby had a crush on her. That wasn't anything new; she'd had a number of suitors over the years; most of them needing to be let down gently - but then why did _this_ one feel so different? So much more painful? She _didn't_ feel the same way. Of _course_ she didn't. But she found herself having to repeat that over and over in her head, so many times that the words were starting to sound unbelievable even to her own ears.

Realizing that she'd been standing by the tree for more than a few minutes, Fallon crossed over to the Steinway baby grand that took up one corner and banged a few vampy minor chords out on the lower keys, the crystals on the chandelier trembling in her wake. Usually doing so made her feel better, at least for a moment - it was cathartic to have a physical manifestation of her inner discord. Today, though, the chords vibrating into the room seemed to have the opposite effect. They hung in the air, making the atmosphere even more stifling than it already was. She rubbed a hand over her face and turned away from the piano, heading out onto the veranda. Air. She just needed air.

The lacquered wood of the deck was cold under her bare feet as Fallon dragged a weather-beaten Adirondack chair out from under one of the eaves. Winter had finally come to Atlanta. Dusting a few yellowed azalea petals out of the seat, she curled up in it, hugging a knee to her chest. As she sat in the stark morning air, she found herself left alone with her thoughts. Introspection had never been one of her favorite pastimes, and now was no exception. Fallon rested her chin on her knee, shivering slightly as a breeze blew against her thin pajamas that were meager protection in this weather. Sitting out here, with no one to distract her from her own mind, she retreated further into herself, examining her innermost thoughts and not at all liking what she saw.

Fallon closed her eyes and Kirby immediately flashed to the forefront of her mind: her blazing red hair; her hand holding a dove with mistletoe; her smile; her lips -

Fallon shook her head hard. She laced her fingers into her hair and pressed her palms against her temples, staring down at the tasteful floral pattern that adorned her knee. She took cool sips of air, trying to settle her heart that was now racing uncomfortably. She'd told Kirby she hadn't meant to lead her on, but as she thought about it now, that was practically all she'd done. She'd treated the girl almost like a pet, watching her beg and giving her treats when she did as she was told. Fallon had never thought of it as flirting, exactly, just - banter, perhaps? But there'd been so many other moments she couldn't make sense of - her excitement when she'd surprised Kirby with her giant pumpkin; how her gaze lingered on her hips in her Halloween costume; how she'd held her hand a moment too long as she cared for the cuts Kirby had gotten trying to put out the fire she'd started.

Fallon always espoused boss bitch vibes; she oozed confidence to the point that it made some people uncomfortable, but no one - not even Culhane or Liam - had managed to get closer than arm's length. Kirby had done so without her even noticing, and last night's sudden shift in their dynamic had sent her reeling. But even though she'd felt the warmth between them for quite some time now, she had pushed it away because it wasn't something she could immediately make sense of. Like she did with everything in her life that didn't perfectly fit into one of her little boxes. Had many good things had she ruined because of that?

Maybe she was just too difficult to love. Maybe that was why she always ended up alone.

* * *

**_Part II_**

_December 25th _

Somehow, despite living in the same house, Fallon didn't see Kirby again until Christmas morning, when she came down a few minutes before ten bearing a few parcels covered in bright paper. As she pointedly settled herself on the opposite end of the sofa, Fallon gave her a quick once over. She looked as exhausted as Fallon herself felt. Her long red hair was tangled, spilling haphazardly over her shoulders, and her skin looked pale and sallow.

"Morning," Fallon tried.

"Morning," Kirby said tersely. "Merry Christmas, Fallon."

Fallon tried to hand her a mug of coffee - two sugars, a hint of hazelnut creamer, just how she knew Kirby liked it - but she waved the mug away, not meeting Fallon's eyes. She pulled at a loose thread on the knee of her pajama pants, then tipped the little packages she held onto the couch. They were poorly wrapped - all cheap paper and crinkled edges and far too much dollar store tape - but she had clearly made an effort. The old Fallon might've mocked her for it, but now, with Kirby so withdrawn, the whole appearance just struck her as being very, very sad.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Kirb," she said gently, reverting back to her childhood nickname without even realizing it. She placed the rejected mug on the coffee table and reached over to touch her knee before she could stop to think about it.

Kirby jumped, startled at the contact, finally looking up at her with an expression in her eyes that was unmistakably heartbroken.

"Yes, I did," she corrected. There was something unreadable in her tone that made Fallon's shoulders tighten. Kirby reached down to take Fallon's hand, and Fallon's heart momentarily leapt at the touch, but Kirby just carefully placed it back in her own lap before letting go.

They were quiet for a moment, but where the silence between them had previously buzzed with implications, energy - and, Fallon thought, maybe even chemistry? - this silence was flat and unyielding. Fallon had never felt so helpless. Her mind was swimming with all kinds of things she wanted to say to the girl, apologies and affirmations and supplications, but it was like the connection between her brain and her mouth was completely severed. She couldn't manage to say any of the things she so desperately wanted to - not a single word. Instead, she just gestured mutely at the fireplace until she finally found her voice.

"I, um… I put your stuff in your stocking."

Kirby nodded. "Thank you."

She rose and crossed to the fireplace, carefully unhooking the stocking from the modeled ceramic holder that affixed it to the mantel. She held it for a moment, staring unseeingly at the embroidered animals.

"Kirby?" Fallon asked carefully, after she'd been standing there a beat too long.

Kirby seemed to snap out of her reverie, curling her fingers around her stocking with a bit more purpose. "Sorry. Jet lag."

"Oh," Fallon replied, unsure what to make of that. "Don't you… don't you want to open your presents?"

Kirby feigned a yawn, one so false that Fallon could spot its inauthenticity more easily than a knockoff Prada bag. "You know, Sydney is sixteen hours ahead of Atlanta during this time of year. It's a big adjustment. I think I might just go back up to bed and get some more rest. But thank you for the presents, I'll open them later." With that, she took the stocking and turned away, retreating up the back stairway by the Christmas tree without so much as a second glance.

Fallon sat quietly, staring at the parcels beside her and the two mugs of steaming coffee on the table that she knew would go cold and be tipped down the drain in a matter of hours. She hadn't mentioned to Kirby that she'd lived in Atlanta for over a year and should surely be adjusted to the time difference by now. Even if she wasn't, the time difference would mean that it was around 2pm in Australia - there was no possible way she'd be tired. She knew that, and she knew Kirby knew she did. Fallon just didn't have the energy to fight her on it.

* * *

_December 27th_

The time after Christmas passed in a strange kaleidoscope for Fallon, the days feeling more like jagged, liminal snapshots on a film reel rather than smooth, continuous motion. She hadn't been this out of sorts in ages - not since Alexis had left when she was a teenager, and even that wasn't quite the same thing. She couldn't bring herself to open Kirby's presents, knowing that the growing hole in her heart couldn't possibly take it, so she'd put them on her bedside table. When that arrangement grew too painful, she put them in the cedar chest at the foot of her bed, tucked firmly beneath an antique quilt. She'd open them when she was ready, she promised herself. Definitely before New Years.

* * *

_December 29th_

Time continued to tick by, making Fallon feel anxious, as if there were something she was forgetting to do; some commitment she'd forgotten she'd had and would certainly pay for forgetting. She and Kirby hadn't had their morning coffee and croissants since before the Christmas tree fiasco, and any contact they'd had had been strained and cordial, as if they were boarders renting rooms in the same house and only interacting with one another to be civil. It felt awful. Once she'd realized she wasn't going to be invited on any business errands in the near future, Kirby had left Fallon's planner and the pens she used to color code it in a neat stack outside Fallon's door. Seeing it had raised a strange lump in her throat, but she'd swallowed it back and cancelled each appointment before she stuffed the materials under a Tiffany paperweight on one of her built-ins. No one paid attention to the _Atlantix _or read her back page, below-the-fold business column, anyway. They'd survive without her until she sorted herself out. She just didn't know how long that was going to take.

* * *

**_Part III_**

_December 31st_

Fallon spent the next few days in a daze, helped along by mimosas that were essentially champagne with just enough juice to turn it orange, and a few of her trusty Valium that she usually reserved for the occasional panic attack she had during a particularly powerful thunderstorm. She usually hated taking them because they made her feel like a zombie, but for once it was nice to not be able to really feel much of anything. At the very least it made it so she could sleep without the threat of dreams.

After a couple of days of moping, she finally roused herself the afternoon of New Year's Eve. She'd promised herself she would open Kirby's presents before the new year - she may as well go ahead and get it over with so she could start drinking and be ready for the ball drop.

She crossed to the cedar chest at the foot of her bed and opened it hesitantly, as if she were expecting a poisonous spider or another equally dangerous creature to spring from its depths, but there were none - just the usual neat stack of folded quilts and blankets, only slightly lumpy in one corner from where she'd shoved Kirby's presents underneath it. She pulled them out with shaking fingers - thank heavens there were only two - then closed the chest and leaned heavily against it with one little parcel in each hand. One of them bore a sticky note that read 'open this one first' in Kirby's signature untidy scrawl.

After a few minutes of staring at the parcels, very seriously considering just stuffing them back into the depths of her chest and never opening them at all, Fallon couldn't help but roll her eyes at herself. They were presents, and she'd never been one to turn down a present. She certainly wasn't going to start now.

She unwrapped the first gift slowly, not because she was nervous - even though she definitely was - but because the amount of tape Kirby had used made it all the more difficult to get into. Biting back a growl of frustration, Fallon finally adjusted her grip and used the edge of her acrylic thumbnail to slit the tape open.

A long, narrow white box fell to her lap. Fallon set the empty paper shell aside and picked it up. Lifting the lid, she found a fountain pen tucked inside, nestled into a bed of velvet. It was really a very nice one, carved out of fire opal that gleamed even in the low light of her bedroom. Tasteful gold hardware finished off the pen and the clip had her initials engraved in the order considered to be correct in this part of the country: first, last, middle, with the last initial slightly larger. _FCM._ Her initials stood out on the clip, carefully antiqued just enough to define them without being too showy.

It was an extremely thoughtful present, one that she could picture herself using day in and day out as she signed paperwork and slashed through edits on her business articles. She had no idea how Kirby had afforded such a nice gift, and it made her even more nervous to open the next one. She carefully tucked the pen back into its box and set it aside, resisting the urge to pat it affectionately. Even if she never managed to mend the rift between her and Kirby, she was definitely keeping the pen.

Now enticed by the possibilities of the next box, Fallon picked it up and immediately slit the tape with her thumbnail, not bothering to struggle with it like she had the first one. It was smaller than the box that had held the pen, and when Fallon lifted the lid, she was met with yet another sticky note. She had to force herself not to roll her eyes as she read it.

"'For you,'" she read aloud, "'if you're ever ready.'"

Fallon frowned. Ready?

She lifted the sticky note to reveal the contents of the box and her heart immediately lurched into her stomach. There, carefully tucked atop a layer of cotton, was Kirby's dove ornament, the bright sprig of holly and mistletoe gripped in its beak. The very ornament Kirby had left here when she'd been sent away all those years ago, and the very same one she'd held over Fallon's head two weeks ago when she'd kissed her more meaningfully than anyone ever had. It hurt to look at it.

Fallon wanted to drop the ornament like she'd been burned, but instead she just gently placed it on the tea tray, the little dove suddenly feeling very weighty. She swept into the bathroom, taking a long, hot shower and scrubbing her skin aggressively with an expensive loofah until she was glowing pink. As she moisturized and changed into a fresh pair of silk pajamas, she heard a gentle tap against her door.

Fallon froze, unsure of what to do. It wasn't a knock - it was like something had bumped against the door. Whoever it was quickly retreated, their footsteps echoing against the marble tile in the hallway as they walked away.

Fallon waited a few more moments, rubbing in her La Mer hand cream a bit more thoroughly than was strictly necessary. When she figured she'd stalled long enough, she opened her door to find a copy of the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution _and a tea tray sitting just outside.

It had to have been Kirby - none of the staff would've done something like that. No, it was definitely Kirby. An olive branch.

Fallon practically snatched the tray, dragging it into her bedroom and closing the door behind her. She could smell the Earl Grey steeping inside the little flowered teapot - her favorite - but her stomach was churning so fiercely she couldn't bring herself to even pour a cup. Fallon missed the redhead's company, but didn't have the slightest idea what to do about it.

She wished Steven was still around. He'd know what to do, she was sure of it, and the truth of that thought ached even more than Kirby's absence.

Fallon heaved herself to the floor, setting the tray down beside her. She crossed her legs and tried to ignore how her fingers itched for her Valium bottle. Now that her peace had been disturbed, her mind drifted back to the time she and Kirby had spent together; the kiss; the dove she knew had once been Alicia's now sitting in her bedroom, and immediately had to force herself to breathe normally. It just didn't make any sense. _Why _was she being so uptight about this? Kirby was just a person. It didn't matter that she had a crush on Fallon, or that she'd given her that gorgeous pen or her stupid ornament. She'd get over it.

As soon as Fallon thought about Kirby 'getting over it', her stomach swooped with disappointment. She didn't _want _the girl to get over her, she realized; she didn't want that at all. Kirby's ornament wasn't stupid, either, and she hated herself for allowing herself to think that. It _wasn't_ stupid. It was incredibly sweet.

She liked Kirby, too, she realized at long last. Perhaps part of her had always known that, but she'd walled it off like she did with any feelings that were too frightening or complex to immediately understand. Once she finally allowed herself to think about it, she didn't shut down like she'd been so afraid she would. The endless uncomfortable gnawing in the pit of her stomach was replaced with butterflies she hadn't felt in recent memory.

Fallon liked Kirby. And the world wasn't going to end because of that.

Rising to her feet, a little shaky with anticipation, Fallon grabbed her new fountain pen off of her bed and crossed to her desk. Uncapping the pen and drawing a sheet of her stationery to her, she wrote a simple note:

'_Truce. We should at least ring in the new year together. Meet me downstairs at 11:55 and we'll watch the ball drop. Fallon.'_

Capping the pen, she dashed from her room before she could lose her nerve and slipped the note under Kirby's door. When she came back, she finally allowed herself a cup of tea, then started browsing her closet for something to wear. Midnight wasn't for hours, but she had to make sure she wouldn't be underdressed.

* * *

_December 31st, 11:55pm_

Kirby came out of her room a little hesitantly, drifting down the stairs as though she wasn't in a big hurry. She hadn't seen Fallon in days, and she'd been more than a little surprised by the note slipped under her door. She couldn't help but feel like she'd made a huge mistake by kissing her the other night, but she had to admit that she was eager to see her. Time seemed to pass more slowly and less interestingly when Fallon wasn't around.

Kirby stepped off the bottom stair, rounding the corner to the living room where her tree still stood proudly and where Fallon had the ball drop playing on the huge flatscreen. Fallon herself was nowhere to be found. Kirby scoffed. She was late. Typical.

_11:57pm_

Just as Kirby was considering going back upstairs, Fallon appeared with a tray bearing two glasses of champagne. Although it was just her and Kirby for the evening, she'd gotten dressed up in the outfit she'd worn to the Carrington's 1920s themed party - the night Kirby had heard her sing for the first time, and been so captivated she almost had to excuse herself.

"You're certainly dressed up," Kirby remarked, taking one of the glasses of champagne. "Never thought I'd see Fallon Carrington wear the same outfit twice."

"I'm full of surprises," Fallon said simply. "And it's about to be the twenties again, so I felt like this was appropriate."

Kirby nodded, twirling the stem of her flute and watching the bubbles rise to the surface and pop. "I honestly didn't even think of that."

_11:59pm_

"Do you have any New Year's Resolutions?" Fallon asked. The ball had started its minute-long descent on the tv, and Kirby's eyes strayed to it for a moment before she answered.

"I hadn't really thought about it. You?"

Fallon nodded, a softness appearing in her eyes that Kirby didn't think she'd ever seen before. She set her glass down on the table and crossed to her so she was mere inches away. Behind Fallon, the countdown showed less than twenty seconds.

Ten.

"Yes. My resolution is to be more honest with myself. Starting..."

Nine.

"Right."

Eight.

"Now." Fallon pulled the little dove out of her pocket, holding it over Kirby's head and smiling. "Look. Mistletoe."

Seven.

Kirby glanced up at the dove and back at Fallon, looking a little perplexed. "...What?"

Six.

"You didn't misread the moment the other night," Fallon admitted. "I don't want to pretend anymore."

Five.

Using one hand to hold the dove, Fallon wrapped her other arm around Kirby's waist and pulled her in, finally letting their lips meet. She could feel Kirby's arms snaking around her; could feel her lips pulling into a smile against hers. She smiled back and deepened the kiss, lowering the dove so she could use both arms to pull Kirby in even further. Behind them she could hear the cheers and noisemakers going off on the tv - it was after midnight. A new year.

_January 1, 12:02am_

When they finally broke apart, Fallon rested her arms on Kirby's hips to keep her close and gently pressed another kiss to her forehead. Kirby beamed, leaning in to kiss her nose before nuzzling her cheek into Fallon's shoulder.

"You really are full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Told you I was," Fallon teased. "Happy New Year, Kirby," she said softly.

"Happy New Year, Fallon."


	6. snowfall

_**Part I **_

Fallon woke up around 11 am on New Year's Day, a little disoriented and confused as to why she wasn't in her bed like she usually was. Blinking the sleepiness away, she sat up a little and looked around. She found that she was still wearing her sequined outfit, only she was tangled up on the sofa with Kirby, who had smudged lipstick marks all over her lips and forehead. The previous night's events came flooding back to her in a warm rush, making goosebumps rise on her arms until she had to rub them away with her palms.

Fallon carefully unwound Kirby's arms from around her waist, taking care not to wake her. She'd given the staff an extended vacation - there just wasn't any need to have them all there just for her and Kirby - so there was no one there to catch them, and as such there was no need to rouse her just yet. She eased herself to her feet and quietly tiptoed out of the room, thankful that the towering stilettos she'd worn the night before had ended up in a spiky heap by the fireplace and couldn't _clack _on the floor to disturb Kirby from her slumber.

Once she was out of the room - and safely out of earshot - she took a moment to go upstairs and change out of the tight, sequined dress and into a pair of peach silk pajamas that Kirby had once complimented. Her hands shook a little as she wet a washcloth with micellar water and tried to wipe smudged eyeliner and lipstick stains from her face.

"It's just Kirby," she told herself sternly, gripping one side of the sink in each hand and staring at herself in the mirror. "Relax."

Taking another deep breath, she turned and left her bedroom. Rather than go back down the back stairs that led to the living room, she took the main staircase that exited into the foyer, then rounded the corner into the kitchen.

As she brewed coffee and warmed croissants and pain au chocolat_, _she couldn't help but think about last night. The memories felt light and fizzy and giddy, as though the champagne they'd sipped had somehow seeped right into them.

* * *

After their midnight kiss, Kirby had insisted on another glass - or three - of champagne and then putting on music and waltzing Fallon around the living room.

"Why are we doing this, again?" Fallon had asked. Kirby didn't have the formal finishing school ballroom training that she did, but she didn't feel the need to one-up her this time.

Kirby's brow had furrowed as she tried to tug Fallon into a box step - she kept insisting on leading - and she shushed her rather than answer. "I'm _trying_ to be romantic here."

Fallon bit back a smile as Kirby pulled back in an exaggerated swoop and twirled her once, twice, three times until Fallon lost her balance and landed in a dizzy, giggling heap on the sofa.

"Get _up!" _Kirby had whined, crossing over to her. "We're not done!"

Fallon had held out her hands to be helped up, but when Kirby reached for them, she'd instead yanked the girl down on top of her so she tumbled into her lap. She'd struggled to prop herself up on her elbows, staring at Fallon with mock annoyance and puffing out air to free the wisps of red hair that had gotten in her mouth.

"You're not funny," Kirby had huffed, but the smile playing across her face betrayed her true feelings on the matter. She'd leaned in to press her lips to Fallon's, and so they'd remained for the rest of the night, the waltzing matter quite forgotten, though the Debussy that Kirby had chosen continued to play.

* * *

The faint _ding _of the toaster oven roused Fallon from her thoughts, and she blushed a little in spite of herself as she realized she'd been standing in front of the counter for several minutes with a dreamy, dopey smile on her face. She rushed to pile the pastries and coffees on their usual tray, making sure she had it balanced right before continuing into the living room.

Despite the dim morning light caressing her face through the windows, Kirby was still curled up on the sofa, sound asleep. Fallon set the tray on the marble coffee table and nestled back in beside her.

"Kirby," she whispered, lightly running her hand over her arm.

She really hadn't spoken loudly enough for her to hear, so she wasn't surprised when the redhead barely stirred.

"Kirby," she tried again, louder this time. When she still didn't stir, she reached out and pressed her pointer finger into the tip of Kirby's nose. _"Booop."_

Kirby's eyelids fluttered, and after a moment she was blinking herself awake. Her face held the same confusion that Fallon's had when she'd woken up, and she pushed herself up on her elbows to look around and get her bearings. "We fell asleep in the living room?"

"Sure did," Fallon replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead. She could feel a warm smile spreading over her face as she looked at Kirby, her eyes still puffy with sleep. There was something incredibly endearing about being with her while she was like this. "I made us our coffee and croissants. I figured we could eat them here."

Kirby's eyes brightened and she sat the rest of the way up, pulling a knit cashmere throw over her knees. "Did you get the papers?"

Fallon groaned in mock-disappointment. "I knew I was forgetting something. They should be on the porch, I'll just go grab them."

Kirby had already located the pain au chocolat - her mouth was too full to respond. She just nodded and waved Fallon away.

Fallon rolled her eyes good-naturedly and turned back to the hallway. Maybe it was just the bliss of finally getting to be with her like this, but she didn't think she really minded doing things for Kirby. It was kind of nice to have someone to focus her attention on; someone to finally be the focus of the affection few people knew she was capable of. She really liked Kirby, and she was not about to fuck it up.

Following the hallway to the foyer, Fallon stopped just before the table that took up most of the space. The light in the living room had looked a little odd, but she'd chalked it up to the weird UV protection on the expensive Pella windows Blake had installed after her little shooting tantrum last summer. Standing in the foyer now, though, she realized it wasn't the windows; the light in here looked odd, too - stark and dim, not at all the warm gold that it usually was.

Shaking her head and shivering a little - it felt awfully cold in the manor today - Fallon opened the front door to retrieve the papers, but was stopped by a sight she hadn't seen in years.

The sky was a cold grey - the source of the unusual light in the house - but even more striking, the grounds of the manor were covered with a dusting of snow. Fallon blinked, unable to believe her eyes. Snow in Atlanta was enough of a rarity already, but the weather fluctuated so quickly that the ground wasn't typically cold enough for it to stick. Yet here it was, coming down in big flakes, quickly covering the veranda and the front yard. Fallon picked up the copies of the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution _and _Sydney Morning Herald _that lay just in front of the doormat, thankful that they'd not gotten wet, and turned back into the house.

Kirby was dumping hazelnut creamer into her coffee when she got back, the pain au chocolat she'd been eating reduced to crumbs that littered her front.

"You took your time," she teased, stirring carefully so as not to sling coffee onto the table.

"Sorry," Fallon replied, placing the papers beside the tray and settling down beside her. She picked up a china plate and set about picking the toastiest croissant.

Kirby reached down and adjusted her throw, unfolding it and tucking the excess over Fallon's knees. "What kept you?"

"I got distracted," Fallon admitted, trying and failing to stifle the smile that came as Kirby fussed over the blanket. "It's not every day it snows in Atlanta, it took me a minute to even believe that it was real."

Kirby had taken a long pull from her coffee, but her eyes lit up at Fallon's words and she very nearly choked on it. _"What?"_

"It's snowing," Fallon repeated. "Sticking, too. It looks like it's already about an inch deep, and it's still coming down." There was a look of unbridled joy dominating Kirby's face, and Fallon couldn't help but make a little mirthful sound as she looked at her. "What's so exciting about that?"

"I've never seen snow before, Fallon," Kirby said slowly, enunciating each word as though she were trying to explain a very simple concept to someone particularly dense.

Fallon felt her smile slip for a moment - of course she hadn't. The last time it had snowed had been when Fallon was a teenager - long after Kirby had been sent back to Australia.

"Can we move to the sunroom?" Kirby asked. She was seemingly oblivious to the shift in Fallon's mood, and the little spark of hope in her voice made her sound about ten years younger than she actually was. "So I can watch it?"

"It'll be cold in there," Fallon said dubiously. She didn't want to shoot the girl down, but the all-glass construction in the room meant it was pretty poorly insulated. "You sure you'll be okay?"

"Oh _no." _Kirby rolled her eyes. "It'll be cold and I might have to cuddle with my girlfriend to stay warm, how _ever _will I survive?"

The word 'girlfriend' rolled off of Kirby's tongue so easily that Fallon could hardly believe it, but she didn't react - there'd be plenty of time to lay awake and stare at the ceiling and unpack her feelings about that later tonight. Instead, she pulled the cashmere throw off of their laps and nodded to Kirby's skimpy tank top and thin pajama pants.

"Go get a pair of silk pajamas out of my drawer, you'll be way too cold in that. I'll move everything to the sunroom."

Kirby brightened at this suggestion - Fallon was notoriously possessive over her clothes, so the offer was a particularly rare one. She hopped up from the couch and started up the stairs as soon as she was instructed to do so, as if she was worried that Fallon might change her mind.

Fallon started to gather their newspapers, but another thought occurred to her when Kirby was halfway up the stairs.

"You can bring Montgomery, too, if you like!" She called, projecting her voice at Kirby's retreating back.

Kirby stopped, turning to face her. "Really?" Fallon had mocked the ragged stuffed wombat on more than one occasion.

Fallon shrugged, tucking the papers under her elbow and looping the throw over her arm so she could pick up the coffee tray. "Well, he's never seen snow before, either."

Kirby just smiled, turning away and practically skipping up the landing.

In her absence, Fallon carted everything into the sunroom, setting the tray on the table where she and Kirby had begun their coffee and croissant tradition last fall. She shivered a little in spite of herself - although the snow outside was starting to collect on the trees and shrubs in a beautiful, lacy pattern, the glass walls meant it really was as cold in there as she'd been expecting.

Fallon laid the papers on the table beside the tray, but the longer she stood in the sunroom, the more apparent it became that the thin cashmere throw she'd brought would not be sufficient to keep them both warm. Sighing, and kicking herself a little for agreeing to this so easily, she turned and padded back down the hallway and up the stairs to her room. The quilts in her cedar chest had served as a good place to hide Kirby's presents while she sorted out her feelings, but maybe it was time to actually use them for their intended purpose.

Fully focused on getting a blanket, Fallon had completely forgotten she'd sent Kirby up to her room to change. The sight of the redhead standing in front of her mirror, wearing a pair of her silk pajama pants that barely reached her ankles and struggling to button up the long-sleeved shirt, was enough to stop her in her tracks.

Kirby saw Fallon in the mirror and blushed. "You could've knocked."

Fallon felt her own cheeks flame with embarrassment. "I… I came to get a…"

"A peek?" Kirby supplied, a teasing tone to her voice. She turned around to face Fallon, having only managed the lowermost button on her shirt. Fallon's eyes strayed from her face without her meaning for them to, but thankfully Kirby just laughed. "If you're going to just stand there you could at least help me out."

Fallon nodded, her throat suddenly feeling tight. As she crossed the few steps to Kirby, she realized why she'd been having such trouble - the pajamas she'd chosen were a pair that had flower-shaped buttons, which made them especially irksome to work through the buttonholes.

"I don't even know why I bought these," she sighed, trying to find something to say that might break the tension. She reached for Kirby, hands only shaking a little bit as she fastened the next button.

"I like them," Kirby shrugged. She was picking up on Fallon's awkwardness, but it didn't read as disinterest - quite the opposite. She was having to make a concerted effort not to smirk, pleased that she had such a noticeable effect on the girl.

Fallon had gone quiet again, her fingers accidentally brushing against the skin of Kirby's sternum as she worked on the next button. A rush of goosebumps raised across her skin and down her stomach, which Fallon found extremely gratifying.

It was the work of minutes to get Kirby all buttoned up the rest of the way, but the entire time, Fallon's mind was wandering - specifically, to how much better it might be to _unbutton _her instead.

"_Thank you_," Kirby said dramatically when she finished, hugging herself. She grabbed Montgomery from where she'd tossed him on Fallon's bed, then laced her fingers together with Fallon's. "Let's go, I wanna see the snow."

"Wait." Fallon let go of her hand to throw open the cedar chest and rifle through it, finally surfacing with a tasteful lavender and cream quilt that had once belonged to Alexis. "Okay, _now _we can go."

Kirby squeezed Fallon's hand and all but dragged her down the stairs. As soon as she crossed the threshold into the sunroom, she shivered, hugging Montgomery to her chest. "It's cold-" she began, but she caught sight of the snow falling outside. Forgetting her previous thought, she squealed and bounded over to the window, immediately pressing her nose to the glass.

Fallon chuckled, picking up their coffee mugs and joining Kirby at the window.

"Here." She offered Kirby her mug, and the other woman took it without taking her eyes off of the scene in front of her. Fallon set her mug on the windowsill and unfolded the quilt, draping one end around Kirby's shoulders and the other around herself. After a moment of indecision, she wrapped an arm around Kirby's waist and hugged her close.

"It's so _pretty," _Kirby said dreamily, sighing and resting her head on Fallon's shoulder.

"Yeah, it is," Fallon agreed, but she wasn't looking at the snow.

"I wish it could be like this all the time," Kirby murmured, taking a sip of her coffee.

"What do you mean?"

"I just kind of like the idea of being snowed in all day with my girlfriend."

There was that word again, but it didn't ignite the panic in Fallon's chest that she'd been expecting. Instead, she just felt a flood of warmth.

"We don't get a lot of snow," Fallon admitted gently.

"Then we'll just have to make today perfect," Kirby reasoned. "Later I want to make a snow angel. And build a snowman. And an igloo."

Fallon knew that there likely wouldn't be enough snow to do much more than the snow angel, but Kirby's wishes were so simple and so _her _that she couldn't bring herself to rain on her parade. "We can do whatever you want, Kirb."

"Promise?"

Fallon laughed lightly, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of Kirby's head, surprised and comforted by how familiar the action felt already. "Promise."

* * *

_**Part II**_

Keeping Kirby occupied while the snow accumulated outside was proving to be more difficult than Fallon had anticipated. She'd set out their tray and newspapers, thinking that they would sit together and wait until the snowfall stopped, but Kirby was restless. She squirmed, crossing and uncrossing her legs and continually getting up and carrying Montgomery over to the window to press her nose against the glass.

It had started out being amusing, even endearing, but on the third trip to the window, Kirby brushed by Fallon a little too closely and accidentally knocked her newspaper out of her hands. Fallon couldn't stop a small sigh from escaping her lips as the pages scattered across the floor.

Kirby turned around to face her, sheepishly letting the hand that held Montgomery drop to her side.

"...Sorry," she mumbled, gathering and refolding the strewn newspaper and handing it back to Fallon.

Her expression was so abashed that Fallon immediately felt her aggravation melt away. "No, it's okay," she assured her, patting the sofa beside her to signal Kirby to sit back down. "I know you're excited. It's actually pretty cute."

"...You think I'm cute?" Kirby teased, tossing her hair.

Fallon rolled her eyes. "Well, I _did."_

Kirby grinned and crossed back over to Fallon to settle in beside her. She carefully tucked Montgomery between her knee and the arm of the settee before reaching for her coffee.

"You're very sweet to set all this up. And thank you for letting me borrow the pajamas. I've always liked these."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry they don't fit better."

"Not your fault you're vertically challenged," Kirby said lightly, leaning out of reach when Fallon went to swat her shoulder.

Fallon watched Kirby sip her coffee and open her newspaper, hesitating for a moment before casually slinging an arm over her shoulders. Surprised by the rare show of affection, Kirby inhaled sharply, choking on the sip of coffee in her mouth but quickly regaining her composure. Fallon chose to act like it hadn't happened, instead just drawing Kirby in a little closer and kissing her temple.

"That's better," she murmured, again reaching for her own coffee and newspaper.

Kirby cautiously sat back, trying her best to play it off like she hadn't been as spooked by the sudden attention as she really was. She sipped her coffee and thumbed through her copy of the _Sydney Morning Herald - _she still hadn't figured just out how Fallon had managed to get the paper delivered every morning - staring at the articles for an appropriate amount of time, but the words entered her eyes and stopped short of registering in her brain. Her gaze kept straying to the snowflakes dancing outside the window, but if Fallon noticed, she didn't comment on it a second time.

Fallon turned her paper over the back page, her eyes automatically scanning to look for her business column. It seemed like it moved lower every week, and she was sure the paper would be calling any day to tell her they'd dropped it to the online-only edition, if not given it the kiss of death completely.

She wanted to be annoyed by it - she spent a lot of time working on her articles, keeping immaculate AP format and painstaking citations, and maybe once upon a time the _AJC_'s indifference would have bothered her, but the article had felt like less of a passion and more of a nuisance these days. She didn't have a lot of other projects to be doing besides the occasional consult on the _Atlantix, _but the usual itching desire to be working hadn't found its way back to her yet. She was suddenly much more okay with taking more time for her personal life than she had before, even if she did still find it difficult to let go of her insane need to control everything.

Kirby shifted beside her, letting her head drop down to rest on her shoulder; the action snapping Fallon out of her thoughts. She could feel the tension in Kirby's muscles slowly starting to release as they sat, and was once again filled with the lightness that always came when she was near. It was odd to think that Kirby could have such an effect on her, but the truth of that fact was indisputable. That was why she was so okay with not working so much - she'd been spending as much time as she could with Kirby, even before things had changed between them. She liked her company.

Sitting here with her now, though, she was starting to realize that her control issues were already seeping into their tentative new relationship - making Kirby wear her pajamas, even if it was well-intentioned; gathering the tray of croissants without even asking Kirby if that was what she wanted for breakfast; her easy exasperation at Kirby's fucking _joy _at seeing snow for the first time. Even now, glancing over at her, she could see that Kirby's eyes were still wandering towards the window, tracking the snowflakes as they continued to come down. She knew Kirby had to be dying to go back to the window, but hadn't, because Fallon had been such a bitch about it. What kind of person did that make her, if she begrudged the one person she was sure she cared about such a simple pleasure?

Feeling her face grow hot with unease, Fallon tersely folded the paper and cast it aside. Kirby lifted her head to look up at her, her gaze full of concern.

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah," Fallon replied, turning to her and looking at her as seriously as she could muster. "It's snowing and we're not outside in it."

Kirby looked dubious. "...You want to? I figured I'd just go out in it later."

Fallon scoffed. "And miss you playing in it for the first time? No way."

"I don't have any clothes that are really snow-appropriate," Kirby half-protested, but the look on her face had shifted into something much more hopeful and excited than Fallon had seen before.

Before the redhead could say anything else, Fallon's hands had already drifted to her pajama top, her fingers starting to unfasten the flower-shaped buttons. "I'm sure we'll find you something."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Kirby was bundled up in one of Fallon's bulkier cashmere sweaters, a wool beanie, an old North Face jacket of Steven's that Fallon had found, and a pair of Blake's ski pants. Fallon's were even shorter on Kirby than the pajama pants had been, making their height difference even more glaring - a fact which she was trying not to be too put out about. Fallon had on a silk thermal blouse, a pair of Under Armour pants, and her own North Face, skipping a hat because she knew that it'd make her hair unbearably frizzy. Both girls had their own pair of Uggs and some odd mittens that Fallon had located in the dustier part of the coat closet.

As Fallon adjusted her hair, Kirby lurked by the doorway, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Are you ready yet?" She asked yet again, impatiently tugging at the cuffs of her mittens.

"Almost," Fallon replied. She pulled a tube of lip balm out of her pocket and swiped it on, then turned to Kirby. "Now I am."

Kirby eyed her slyly, leaning in and quickly kissing the lip balm off before Fallon had a chance to react.

Fallon sputtered, wiping away the kiss with the back of her hand and glaring at Kirby. "Thief."

"I can't bear to watch you primp anymore," Kirby groaned. She took the tube of lip balm out of Fallon's hand, stopping her from reapplying it. "We're literally just going to the _backyard."_

With that, and without waiting for another reply, she grabbed Fallon by the elbow and dragged her outside.

* * *

The snow had deepened quite a bit since Fallon had stepped out on the porch to gather their newspapers, and as the girls stepped out onto the back veranda, they both had to stop for a moment to fully take in what they were seeing.

The peach trees that lined the back of the estate were covered in fresh powder, their branches and few remaining leaves outlined in a way that made them look like shimmering filigree. A few occasional flakes were continuing to fall, but a cold winter sun shone through the clouds so that the effect of the glittering white wonderland that awaited them was almost too dazzling to behold.

"_Wow."_ Kirby's words were punctuated by a cloud of vapor as she exhaled, but the frigid air outside wasn't seeming to have as much of an effect on her as Fallon had anticipated.

Fallon nodded, completely taken by the sheer awe in Kirby's voice. "So what do you think?" she asked, reaching up to tug at the pompom on her beanie.

"It's beautiful," Kirby said decisively. She stepped forward, reaching a hand up to run a finger across the line of icicles that had formed along one of the eaves. The shards of ice freed themselves with the slightest amount of pressure, shattering on the floor with a sound like broken glass.

Fallon was quiet for a moment, watching Kirby take it all in with endearing childlike wonder. Coming out here had clearly been the right thing to do.

After a few more moments, she tentatively reached for Kirby's hand. "You wanna go?"

Kirby nodded, and Fallon led her carefully down the back stairs and into the backyard, taking care to watch her step. The snow wasn't really as deep as it looked - maybe four inches, tops - but it was more than Atlanta usually saw, and definitely more than Kirby had ever seen.

"I don't know where to start," Kirby admitted.

"Do you wanna build a snowman?" Fallon asked.

"'_Come on, let's go and plaaaay,'"_ Kirby sang.

Fallon's brow furrowed in confusion. "...What?"

"You- you asked if I wanted to build a snowman."

"Yeah?"

Kirby was now eyeing her a bit more reproachfully than Fallon preferred. "Like in _Frozen?"_

"Oh," Fallon shrugged. "I never saw it."

"Disappointing," Kirby sniffed. "But yes, let's build a snowman."

Fallon nodded, knowing that a mandatory viewing of the movie was most likely in her near future. "Okay, let's start over there." She pointed to a dip in the yard where a fountain had once stood. "The snow might be a little deeper there, that'll make it easier." Realizing that she'd once again given an order without even thinking about it, she cleared her throat and tried to soften her voice into something a little less commanding. "If you want, I mean."

"No, that's a good idea," Kirby agreed, oblivious to Fallon's continuous inner dialogue. She tightened her grip on Fallon's hand, and together they trudged to the area that Fallon had indicated.

"How do we even start?" Kirby asked. She shivered a little, turning up the collar on her jacket.

"It's been a while since I've done this," Fallon admitted. "And even then I only made a couple when we'd go on vacation to Vail. Steven was always the architect. I think you just start by making a snowball and rolling it on the ground until it's big enough."

Kirby nodded and set about carefully packing snow into a ball. Fallon turned away, pulling out her phone to take a quick picture of the frosted peach orchard to post to Instagram, when suddenly she felt a stinging slap against her scalp followed by a wet coldness - Kirby had pelted her with her snowball.

Fallon let out a yelp and rubbed the spot, turning to face her.

"_Kirby!"_

Before she could react further, Kirby scampered over to her, already looking apologetic. She grabbed Fallon and tugged her hat off, smothering the damp spot in her hair with kisses.

"I'm sorry! You were right there, I couldn't resist!"

Fallon even surprised herself by laughing instead of scolding, whirling around to face her.

"It's okay," she teased. "I should apologize to you, too,"

Kirby looked confused. "What? Why?"

"For _this."_

Fallon put her hands on Kirby's shoulders and tackled her, straddling her hips and driving her fingers into her ribs. Kirby shrieked, kicking her legs against the snowy ground and struggling against her so hard that her own hat fell off, but Fallon had her pinned.

"Nooo!"

"You said you wanted to make a snow angel," Fallon said calmly, heedless of the hysterical giggles she was eliciting from the other woman. "Lay back and make one."

Kirby let out a growl and pressed her hands against Fallon's shoulders, flipping them over so she was on top.

"_Now _what are you gonna do?" Kirby teased. She brushed her own fingers against Fallon's ribs, and Fallon could feel goosebumps rising on her skin even through her jacket.

"_This." _Fallon stretched up and kissed Kirby hard. She squeaked and laced her fingers into the brunette's hair, kissing her back equally hard and leaning back so Fallon could prop herself up on her elbows.

After a minute, Fallon eased Kirby back in her lap so she could sit all the way up and wrap her arms around her. They sat for another long moment, so wrapped up in each other that they were completely oblivious to the snow falling around them.

When they finally broke apart, Fallon reached out and tucked a strand of Kirby's hair behind her ear. The redhead's eyes were bright and smiling, but her nose and cheeks were starting to turn pink from cold. Fallon was just about to comment on it when, as if on cue, Kirby shivered and cuddled closer to her.

"You cold?" Fallon asked, rubbing her hands over Kirby's upper arms to try and warm her up.

"N-no," Kirby replied, blushing as her teeth chattered around the lie. "Okay, maybe a little bit."

"You wanna go inside?" Fallon asked, careful to phrase it as a question.

Kirby thought for a moment, then nodded. "We can always come back out later, right?"

"Whatever you want," Fallon promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm all yours."


End file.
